I Need To Talk
by Mistress Scribbles
Summary: Who is David Thornley, and why does he want a secret meeting with Lynda? Why are there men asking for Colin at the office late at night? Some mysteries should remain unsolved, but that rarely happens at the Junior Gazette. Rated for language and violence.
1. Chapter 1

I NEED TO TALK

-x-

One

-x-

The note in Lynda's drawer said this:

Lynda.

8pm tonight – 3 Feathers. ALONE.

I NEED TO TALK. DESPERATE.

David Thornley.

-x-

She had been brushing her teeth, when she'd heard a clatter. It was probably only foxes in the bins, she'd told herself, but she'd climbed from the toilet seat up to the windowsill to have a look anyway. It was partially because she liked seeing foxes scattering the rubbish, but mostly because, even at 10 years old, Lynda Day loved a mystery.

And on this occasion, her curiosity had paid off. Because it wasn't a fox out there in the dark street at ten o'clock at night, but a boy. A boy, in pyjamas and bare feet in the middle of November, picking himself up out of the fallen dustbin. A strange boy, pale and small, looking around himself, disorientated, and hugging himself for warmth. David Thornley.

-x-

'Lynda? Lynda!'

Lynda pushed past her boyfriend to get to her desk. 'Spike, I'm busy.'

'It's only a simple question, Lynda. It'll only take you a second to answer.' Spike hovered at Lynda's desk as she continued to ignore him. He picked up the note again, and waved it in her face. 'For the last time, who the Hell is David Thornley?'

Lynda started to read through some Features pieces.

'What is he – a contact?' continued Spike, unabated, 'a story lead? Old boyfriend? New boyfriend?... Tell me if I'm getting warmer or colder, would ya?'

'Handbags?' Muttered Lynda, glancing at another article. 'Who in their right mind is going to read a 500 word feature about bloody handbags?'

'I'm not being possessive,' added Spike, 'it's just that I'd like to know why my girlfriend is getting notes to see desperate Mystery Men on her own in pubs at night.'

'This is hardly a regular occurrence,' replied Lynda, neither changing her tone nor acknowledging Spike with so much as a glance. 'You should know, you go through my diary often enough. And can you believe this punctuation?'

'So what's so different about our Mr Thornley?' demanded Spike. 'Come on, Lynda, it'll take up far less of both our time if you just tell me.'

Lynda finally looked up from her desk. 'Trust me, Spike. It won't.'

-x-

'Mum?' Lynda padded down the stairs to where her mother was watching TV. 'There's a boy outside.'

Mrs Day tutted. 'Another of those teenagers? Just ignore them, dear, they'll get bored and go somewhere else.'

'No, Mum.' She fiddled with the tassels on the sofa. 'He's littler than I am.'

Mrs Day blinked at her daughter. 'What?'

'He's only in his pyjamas, and he fell in a bin. I think he hit his head, because he's bleeding a bit.'

Lynda's mum got up to peer out of the curtains. 'You're kidding, aren't you? On a night like this?'

'He could be a ghost,' added Lynda, helpfully.

Mrs Day stared out the window. 'Jesus, Lynda. You're right.'

'You mean he really _is_ a ghost?' Lynda watched her mother run to the front door and open it.

'Are you all right, love?'

Lynda could see from her end of the hallway that the boy was standing stock still, staring at her mother blankly. She crept toward the open front door as Mrs Day continued to call out to the boy.

'What are you doing out there dressed like that? Do you live nearby? Where's your Mum and Dad?'

Lynda tried to push past her Mum, but Mrs Day held her back.

'Don't, love,' muttered Mrs Day to her daughter, 'I think there's something wrong with him.'

'He's hit his head,' explained Lynda, but her mother ignored her and called out to the strange boy again.

'Have you taken something?' she asked him, 'has a grownup given you something that's made you feel funny?'

Still the boy stared. Mrs Day took a step back into the house. 'I'm calling the Police.'

'No.'

The boy hadn't commanded, hadn't begged. He had spoken flatly, as though he had been asked if he wanted ketchup on his peas. Lynda slipped under her mother's arm to stand on the doorstep. So he _could_ speak after all. She had hoped that he was a ghost, or at least a wild Wolfboy. But somehow, that blank 'no' had been all the more intriguing.

For a moment, they stared at each other. It was Lynda who spoke first.

'Hello, you.'

'Hello, you,' he parroted.

'Lynda?' Her mother frowned. 'Do you _know_ this boy?'

Lynda didn't know him. Lynda had never seen him before in her life. But Lynda Day loved a mystery, and Lynda Day was the best liar in the world.

'Yes, Mum.' She smiled up at her mother. 'It's only David.'

'David?' Mrs Day blinked at her daughter. 'Who's David? You've never mentioned him before…'

'David Thornley,' interrupted the boy. He gave Mrs Day a small smile. 'I'm in Lynda's art class.'

'And you know how much I hate art class,' added Lynda, triumphantly, 'which is why I never talk about it.'

Mrs Day gazed incredulously from the strange boy to her daughter, and back again. 'So what are you doing outside our house in the middle of the night in your pyjamas then, David?'

The boy barely blinked. 'I sleepwalk. Woke myself up when I fell.'

'He could have concussed himself, Mum,' added Lynda before addressing the boy she had named David. 'Aren't you cold?'

David nodded. 'Can I come in?'

Lynda looked up at her mother.

'Of course you can,' sighed Mrs Day. 'Get warm and I'll call your parents.'

Lynda's mother walked ahead and Lynda held the door open for David.

'What's our school?' he asked from the corner of his mouth as he passed her.

'St Mary's,' she muttered under her breath.

'Year?'

'Six.'

'Your surname?'

'Day.'

David nodded to himself as Lynda shut the door behind them.

'What's your real name?' She whispered to him.

David looked at her as though she'd gone completely mad. 'David Thornley,' he replied.

-x-

'I'm going with you,' announced Spike.

'No you're not.' Lynda got up from her desk and marched across the newsroom, with Spike still in tow.

'You can't stop me, Lynda. I'm an investigative journalist – it's my job to get to the bottom of mysteries.'

'It's not a mystery,' she snapped. 'Not one that needs solving, anyway…' she stalled momentarily in front of an apprehensive looking Julie. 'He's an old friend, all right, Spike? Happy now? Julie, these articles are unacceptable.'

'If he's such an old friend, why haven't I ever heard about him before?'

Julie spoke over the American. 'Well, what do you want _me_ to do about it?'

Lynda chose only to answer her Assistant Editor. 'I'm sick of telling those morons. It's your turn to shout at the Brick Wall.'

'I bet Julie's never heard of him either,' added Spike.

'Who?'

'Lynda's old friend David Thornley.'

Julie wrinkled her nose. '_Who_?'

Spike gave Lynda a triumphant little smile. 'In fact, I bet nobody's ever heard about your Old Friend before. How about you, Colin?'

Colin blinked away from the wall he'd been staring at. 'Hmm?'

'Ever heard of a guy called David Thornley? Apparently he and Lynda are thick as thieves.'

Colin shook his head and drew breath to say something before his mobile phone rang, making him leap like a startled cat and scurry into his office to take the call.

'See, Lynda? Now maybe you could be good enough to tell me who your date for tonight _really_ is…'

But Lynda had already gone.

-x-

Mrs Day handed David Thornley a hot cup of tea and tried her best to keep her patience.

'I just don't see how you could have possibly forgotten your home phone number.'

David shrugged. 'Sorry.'

'He _has_ hit his head,' helped Lynda. The gash on David's forehead was fascinating her – it was big and deep, with puffy purple bruising all around it, fading off to green at the edges. She was sure if she squinted hard enough she could see the bone of his skull.

'Yes, I suppose,' sighed Lynda's mother, 'you do still seem a little groggy. Let me get a plaster for that.'

Mrs Day disappeared into the kitchen, and Lynda and David smiled at each other.

'Did you really sleepwalk here?' asked Lynda.

'I like this tea,' replied David.

'Have you really forgotten your phone number?'

David nodded. 'And I've forgotten where I live, too. Now I can't ever go home.'

'Don't you think that's sad?'

'Not really,' said David. 'I think I like your house better.' He looked around the living room. 'Where's your Dad?'

Lynda started playing with the tassel on the sofa again. 'He's not around much these days.'

David looked at her, neither embarrassed nor malicious, simply curious. 'Are your Mum and Dad getting divorced?'

'No!' Replied Lynda, suddenly, then paused. 'He's in the Navy. He's a Captain. What does your Dad do?'

David went very quiet and still, staring at his knees.

'David…?' Lynda tried to look into his downcast eyes.

'Don't remember,' he whispered, eventually.

Mrs Day hurried in with a sticking plaster, and a perturbed expression.

'Funny,' she said, gently sticking the plaster over the cut, 'the Police don't have any record of a David Thornley reported missing. They don't even know of anybody of your description going missing in the area.'

'You called the Police?' David exclaimed, wide eyed.

'They're going to check their records and get back to us,' continued Mrs Day. 'Are you _sure_ you can't remember anything?'

David shook his head.

Lynda's Mum crossed her arms. 'I think I should take you down to the hospital.'

'No.' David shook his head again. 'No, I don't want to go there.'

'They can take better care of you there,' argued Mrs Day.

'Lynda can take care of me!'

'I can, Mum,' added Lynda.

'I don't want to go to the hospital, it's full of sick people.' David gave Mrs Day a pleading, poorly-puppy-dog gaze. 'Can't I stay here? Just for tonight?'

'David…' started Mrs Day.

'Let him stay, Mum,' added Lynda. 'Hospitals smell of Old People. He might remember where he lives in the meantime, and besides, you _did_ say that the police were phoning back later.'

Mrs Day sighed, defeated by the double barrage of Big, Sad Eyes. 'I'll set up the camp bed.'

Lynda's Mum disappeared upstairs, and David grinned into his mug of tea, cupping it with both hands. Lynda watched the boy drink, watched his hands, noticed the little round marks on the back on them. She reached out a finger and touched one of the discoloured blotches. He jerked his hand away.

'What's that on your hands, David?'

David didn't look at her. He concentrated on the rim of his mug. 'I'm… I'm tired now.'

-x-

'I know you're tired, Kenny. Just try to remember, will ya?'

There was a short delay before the muffled, bleary voice at the other end of the phone spoke again. 'It's four in the morning here. Why are you doing this to me?'

'Just settling a little argument.'

Another pause. 'Oh God,' sighed Kenny at last, 'there really is no getting away from you two, is there?'

'You've been her best friend all her life,' continued Spike, oblivious to Kenny's irritation, 'so if anybody will have heard of David Thornley, it would be you.'

'David Thornley?' said Kenny after the pause, 'you mean her imaginary friend?'

'_Imaginary?_' Spike frowned to himself, confused and a little disappointed.

'Yeah… well, when she was about 10 she spent a few weeks talking about this boy called David Thornley. Some boy I never met who was supposed to have a crush on her, so I assumed she'd made him up. Why?'

Spike went stony faced. 'A crush? That settles it. I'm goin' after her.'

'Spike… even if he _does_ exist, that was nine years ago now…'

'Trust me, Kenny. Once you've had a crush on Lynda Day that's It. You're a gonner. You're never gonna get un-crushed. And she's goin' on a _date_ with him, Godammit…'

There was another pause, and then a small laugh. 'Listen to yourself, Spike. She's got you jealous over a 10 year old boy.'

'I'm not jealous,' scowled Spike, 'I'm just… I disapprove, that's all.'

'Listen Spike, if you want my advice, I'd…'

'Can't talk now, Kenny. I'm kinda busy.' Spike hung up the phone and stormed across the office. 'Frazz.'

Frazz instinctively opened one eye at the sound of his name. 'What?'

'Rise and shine, Frazz.' Spike picked Frazz's jacket up off the floor. 'We're goin' undercover.'

'Not again,' Frazz yawned, 'Where to this time?'

'We're going on a double date,' replied Spike, 'to the Three Feathers.'

-x-

Lynda lay on her back in the dark and listened to David trying to get comfortable in the sleeping bag.

'Have you remembered where your parents live yet, David?'

'No,' replied David. 'Maybe I'll never remember.'

'I don't think you can stay here forever,' she replied.

'I'll go to London,' said David from the darkness, 'it was time for me to leave home anyway.'

'London costs loads,' considered Lynda.

'I'm going to make a million pounds there,' answered David, 'I've got it all planned out. I'll be earning £200 a day as soon as I get there.'

'You can't do that,' yawned Lynda, 'you're only a child.'

'I've seen it on Telly,' said David, 'I'll go up to rich people all upset and tell them I've been mugged, and I need 50p to get the bus back home.'

Lynda frowned in the darkness. 'You're going to trick people out of their money?'

'It's only 50p,' explained David, 'and they'll feel really good about themselves for doing it. I'll be making people happy. And the beauty of it is, it only takes about a minute to do. So, 50p a minute, that's thirty pounds an hour. And in a couple of weeks I'll have enough money to buy a shop, and then I won't have to do it any more.'

'Where will you live?' Lynda was starting to get sleepy now.

'In the shop. I'm going to sell Origami Swans.'

'Can you do Origami, then?'

'No,' said David, 'but I can learn. And I know a place where you can get a thousand sheets of paper for a couple of quid. I'd have no overheads. Think of the profits!'

'You sound like my Dad,' muttered Lynda.

'Do they worry about overheads much in the Navy, then?'

Lynda chewed her lip. 'Money doesn't grow on trees, not even in the middle of the ocean.'

Downstairs, the doorbell rang. David seemed happy enough with Lynda's explanation to go back to the subject of his impending fortune. 'Do you know what I'm going to call the shop?'

'No.'

'I'm going to call it "Linda".'

'"Lynda" has a Y in it.'

'"Y"?'

'Why not?'

David paused, confused. 'You can come up and visit.'

'OK. Can I bring Kenny?'

'No. Maybe you can live in the shop with me, though.'

'I'll sell my book from there. Once I've written it.'

'Well,' yawned David, 'I'll have plenty of paper there for you to write it on.'

Lynda was about to say something else when the door opened, flooding them both with light.

-x-

It was past eight o'clock. Spike took another small sip from his pint and pulled another face. English Beer. Ew. He and Frazz had chosen the darkest corner in the grubby little Old Man Pub, but still he worried about being seen – there was hardly anybody else in the pub, just a handful of grey haired regulars propping up the bar, a miserable looking middle aged couple talking about their mortgage and a squat drunkard in his forties, covered in tattoos, downing beers and whiskeys and muttering angrily to himself. There was no Lynda, and no man save himself and Frazz who was any near the right age to be David Thornley.

Frazz supped at his Scrumpy. 'The second she walks in here, she's going to see us.'

'Well, where is she, then?' Spike drummed his fingers on the table. 'If her friend is so desperate to see her, where are they both?'

'Don't be an idiot,' sighed Frazz, 'face it, she's not coming.'

'I guess she knew from the start I'd follow her.'

'Too bloody right she did,' replied Frazz. 'Know what I think?'

'What?'

'I don't think there even is a David Thornley.'

The drunk swore loudly to himself.

'What?' demanded Spike.

'Nobody's ever seen him,' reasoned Frazz, 'the only person who's ever even heard of him is Kenny and he thinks he's imaginary.'

'Then why…?'

Frazz shrugged. 'Maybe you haven't been paying enough attention to her lately, who knows. I reckon she planted that note where she knew you'd find it. To make you jealous. To keep you on your toes.'

'She wouldn't do that…' muttered Spike to himself, 'Even Lynda's not that manipulative…'

'You sure of that?'

'Fuckin' women,' said the tattooed drunk to nobody in particular.

'You said it, Mate,' agreed Frazz.

The drunkard got up from his table, suddenly. 'Fuckin' Hell. Fuckin' women.'

Frazz leaned in to Spike, discreetly nudging a thumb towards the tattooed man as he staggered furiously towards the door.

'Look at that, Spike. That's you, in 20 years if you carry on like this.'

'S'all fuckin' shit.' The man struggled with the door. 'Sort it out. Sort that little fucking shit out…'

'Take a good, hard look at your future.'

Spike gurned at his beer again. 'It's not a trick, Frazz. It's not.'

The tattooed man finally managed to let himself out into the street, with a loud 'FUCK OFF!'

'It's something else,' he told his disgusting, warm pint. 'I know it is. It's something else.'

-x-

Lynda opened the door to the café. A young man looked up from his cup of tea.

'Hello, David.'

-x-

'What…?'

Both children sat up in their beds in the harsh light. Lynda's Mum lingered in the doorway, but the two Police Officers walked straight towards David. David panicked, desperately trying to get out of his sleeping bag. The policewoman put her hands on his shoulders, gently, but still the boy wriggled.

'You know why we're here, don't you?' asked the Policewoman, softly.

David shook his head. 'I didn't do anything wrong…'

'Nobody said you did,' soothed the Policewoman, 'you just told a little lie to Mrs Day. That's not a crime. It would have just made getting you back home a little bit harder, had Mrs Day not described you so well, that's all.'

'You lied too, Lynda,' Mrs Day told her daughter, quietly. 'You said this boy was a friend of yours.'

'But he _is_ my friend!' argued Lynda.

'He might be your friend now, but he wasn't when I let him in, Lynda. He's not from St Mary's, is he?'

'You had us all very confused,' explained the Policewoman, 'there was a little boy called David Thornley that had been found, but nobody had lost him. And then about ten minutes ago we got a phone call from a very worried Mum and Dad whose son had hit his head on a door sleepwalking and wandered off into the street in a daze…'

'He hit his head on the bin…' attempted Lynda, but nobody was listening to her. All the adults' eyes were on David, and David was only concerned with getting out of the Policewoman's grip.

'…and when we asked them to describe their son, they described a boy we had on our records as David Thornley. Only this boy's name isn't David Thornley, is it?'

'Get off…' muttered David as he struggled, 'leave me alone.'

The Policewoman crouched down to David's level and looked him in the eyes.

'Is it, Colin?'


	2. Chapter 2

I NEED TO TALK

-x-

Two

-x-

Colin managed a small, worried smile. 'Hello, you.' He pushed a second cup of tea towards Lynda. 'Good idea to change from the Feathers. Spike might have gone in after you.'

'He did,' replied Lynda. 'I'd bet any money on it.'

'Thought you might have forgotten who David Thornley was,' muttered Colin, 'you never mentioned it after… you know.'

Lynda smiled a little, despite the horrible memory, the screaming and the crying. 'I did have to bite my lip a few times when you first turned up at Norbridge High. But it was your life, I wasn't going to bring it up if you weren't. And after a while you do start pushing it to the back of your mind. Colin Mathews is a strong enough personality to overshadow David Thornley.'

'That's because David Thornley was a Victim,' said Colin, quietly. 'I'm not. I won't let that happen.'

-x-

'NOOOOOO!' David exploded into tears at the mention of his real name, fighting angrily against the Policewoman. 'No I'm not! Get off! Get OFF!'

Lynda shrank back a little in her bed, and Mrs Day put her hands against her face. 'Christ…'

Somehow, David managed to wriggle out of the sleeping bag and half way out of the Policewoman's grip, but she kept hold of his pyjama top as he tried to free himself.

That's when Lynda saw the bruises. Just for the briefest moment, before the Policeman helped his partner in restraining the sobbing, kicking boy.

'Come on Colin,' demanded the Policeman as he lifted David up off the ground, 'your parents are worried sick. You've had your fun, and you've given us all a little mystery to solve, but it's time to go home now.'

'That's not the mystery,' said Lynda.

The Police Officers ignored her and started to carry David down the stairs.

'That's not the mystery!' she shouted again, getting out of her bed. She managed to make it to the top of the stairs before the Police reached the bottom. 'The real mystery is, if his parents were so worried, why did it take them all night to phone you?'

'I beg your pardon, Young Lady?' gasped Mrs Day.

'I first saw him two hours ago,' yelled Lynda, 'and he was already half frozen. Who knows how long he'd been walking before that? But they only called you a few minutes ago. And they couldn't have been out, because they knew he'd hit his head. Right?'

'Lynda love,' tried her Mother, 'what you're saying doesn't make sense…'

'Not to you, Mum,' replied Lynda. 'Because you've got nothing to hide from the Police. But I reckon they were scared, so they waited for him to get cold and come back, only he didn't.'

'They're not scared…' started David.

'I don't think you sleepwalk,' Lynda told David, 'and I don't think you hit your head on a door _or_ on a dustbin.'

'Lynda,' snapped her mother, 'what have I told you about sticking your nose into other peoples' affairs? It's not down to you, you're just a little girl.'

'But _they're_ the Police!' replied Lynda, pointing angrily at the Officers. 'They're supposed to do the nosing. So before you take him back home, be a bit nosey. Look at his hands. Look at his back. Be nosey!'

'Go to bed, Lynda,' demanded her mother, but the Policewoman had already taken one of David's hands and was inspecting the back of it.

'Do these look like cigarette burns to you?' asked the Policewoman.

'Lynda. Bed. Now!'

The Policewoman bent herself down to David's level again. The boy had stopped trying to fight now and was just crying.

'Colin? Could you take your pyjama shirt off for us please?'

'Bed.'

Lynda took one last look at David Thornley before turning back into her room and closing the door behind her. She didn't sleep, but listened to the voices below, listened to her mother saying 'Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God' until her voice broke with tears.

Lynda didn't cry, but she thought about David Thornley, and hoped she'd see him again some day.

-x-

'Took me a while to forgive my Mum, afterwards' sighed Colin, 'I don't suppose we'll ever really be OK with each other, but my Nan talked to me, talked to both of us. Helped me understand she was just as scared of Him as I'd been. Katie didn't really understand, she was too young. Our little Innocent Bystander.' He smiled to himself. 'I think that's why we both spoil her so much.'

He finished of his tea. Lynda didn't interrupt.

'If it wasn't for Nan, though… she was a tough old bird, could have given you a run for your money…'

Lynda just smiled.

'She'd turn a blind eye to pretty much any crimes and misdemeanours, any prison stretch, so long as you were Family, but if you hit a woman or a kid… you were Out.' He snorted a laugh. 'And the rest of the clan were all so frightened of her, they all fell over each other to put me under their wing. Helped me get the Restraining Order for when He was released, made sure He stayed away, made sure I never went wanting…'

He paused, drawing a swirl in the sugar bowl.

'But Nan died. And now He's back.'

'He got out of prison?' asked Lynda, quietly.

'Oh, he's been out of prison for ages. They only gave him a few months.'

'You're joking…'

Colin shrugged. 'I didn't care, so long as he stayed away from me, Mum and Katie. But the Restraining Order's only for me. Mum didn't want it and, like I said, Katie didn't understand. So, now I've moved out of home… He can get in.'

'He can't just break in and take over because you're not living there any more, Colin…'

'Mum says He's changed,' replied Colin with a tight, bitter smile, 'Mum was always saying He'd changed, He was sorry, she was giving Him one more chance to prove Himself, blah blah blah…'

Lynda nodded to herself. 'She's taking him back.'

'He beat her as well as me,' said Colin, 'He'll do it again. But it's Katie that I'm… He didn't lay a finger on her before, but then He didn't start hitting me until I was six. And if I'm not there to take the flak… And she fourteen now, and the puppy fat's all dropping off except for the places that are supposed to be… big, you know… and…'

'And you can't stop thinking about Cindy Watkins,' finished Lynda.

'He never did that stuff to me,' Colin sighed, 'but… I'm not sure I could put Him past doing it to Katie. I can't trust Him to leave her alone.'

'Have you tried talking to your Mum?' Asked Lynda.

'There's no point. She doesn't listen to reason, not when He's involved.'

'Your sister could move in with you,' she suggested.

'I've tried that. She doesn't want to leave mum, she doesn't think He's dangerous.' He rubbed his face and looked up at her, that old desperation in his eyes, the desperation of David Thornley.

'What am I going to do, Lynda? What am I going to do?'

Lynda thought long and hard while he watched her.

'I don't know.'

-x-

Julie jumped at the sound of loud banging on the office door.

'Spike…' she muttered to herself, wandering over into the entrance hall.

Only it wasn't Spike. It was a stocky, middle aged man, drunk and angry. He slapped at the door again.

'Lemme in!'

Julie stood on the other side of the locked door.

'Door's locked,' she shouted back at him. 'I think you might have the wrong place. This is the Junior Gazette. It's a Newspaper.'

'I know that!' slurred the drunk, 'I'm not fucking stupid! Let me in, I've got a… I've got a fucking story for you…'

'The office is closed for the day,' she shouted. 'There's a few of us finishing off, but we don't do interviews at this time of night.'

'Love… Love…' The drunk leaned in closer. Julie could see large tattoos on his neck and knuckles. 'Just tell us, Babes. Tell us… that Colin Mathews, he works here, yeah?'

_I knew it_, thought Julie to herself.

'If you can call it working,' she answered. 'But he's not in. If you've got an issue with him, you can sort it out in the morning. OK?'

The drunkard thumped the door again. 'No! Tell me where he is, you fuckin'…'

'What has he done this time?'

The third voice, from the gloom, made Julie blink. Another man, of around the same age as the first, appeared at the door. The drunk squinted at the newcomer for a moment. The second man seemed quite calm next to the angry, inebriated thug. He took a cigarette packet from his pocket and offered it both to the drunkard, who took three, stuffing one into his mouth and the others into his jeans pocket, then to Julie through the door's window, who shook her head with a curt smile. The well dressed second man proceeded to take a cigarette for himself and light it, not forgetting to light the tattooed man's smoke first.

The drunk took a drag and relaxed slightly. 'Hair tongs,' he growled at both listeners, 'Bought a pair for the Mississ' birthday. Only…'

'Only they don't work,' completed Julie with a roll of her eyes.

'Only they work too well, sweetheart.' The tattooed man took another drag. 'She was tryin' to do ringlets, and they burned right off.'

Julie bit down a giggle, and she could see the second man's lips twisting around the cigarette, trying their best not to smile.

'There she is, tryin' to look like Victoria Plum,' continued the Drunk, 'and she comes out of the bathroom lookin' like Oliver fucking Twist. She's given me nothin' but grief about it all fuckin' day.'

'Yeah, well,' sighed the second man, cordially, 'I reckon causing hassle's what the good Lord put the fairer sex here on Earth to do.' He gave Julie a quick wink and a smile.

The drunkard sighed at his shoes. 'Too right, Chief. Too fuckin' right.'

'Tell you what, mate.' The second man pulled a chequebook and pen out of a pocket. 'How much did you pay for the curlers?'

'Twenty.'

'Well, how's about…' the second man leaned against the wall to write something on the chequebook. 'How's about I double it, for all your trouble. Send the wife down the salon, short hair's very In these days I hear.' He tore a cheque from the book and presented it to the tattooed man. The Drunk gazed at it, suspiciously.

'How comes _you're_ paying for it? Where's the little shit that sold them to me in the first place?'

'Me and him go back a way,' breezed the other man. 'I'll cover him, I don't mind. Take the money. I think it's more than fair.'

The Drunk took the cheque, squinting at the other man once more. 'Do I know you?'

The man shrugged. 'Do you? Why don't you go home to your poor wife, eh?'

The tattooed man stumbled backwards a little, then turned on his heel, weaving off into the night. The other man just leaned on the door and grinned at Julie.

'Thanks,' Julie sighed, 'I don't think I was going to be able to get rid of him.'

'Not a problem.'

'But why _did_ you bail Colin out?'

'Like I said, we go back a ways.'

Julie shook her head. This guy looked far too reputable to be an old acquaintance of Colin's.

'I take it he's not in now 'til tomorrow,' continued the man.

'He's a popular boy tonight, isn't he?' smiled Julie. 'I'll let him know you called, Mister…?'

The man flicked ash from his cigarette onto the ground. 'Don't worry about it, Goldilocks. It's been a while since we've met up. It'll be a nice surprise for him in the morning.'

Julie shrugged. 'If you say so. I'd better get back to work.'

'Yeah,' smiled the man. 'See ya.'

He turned from the door and walked off towards the street. The tattooed man was sitting slumped on the kerb, too drunk to stand any more. He eyeballed the other man as he walked past.

'Oi!' Yelled the drunk as the man passed him, 'Oi, I do know you. Did Bird together, didn't we…?'

The man kept on walking.

'You're Lenny.'

The man faltered a little, then continued to walk. Still the drunk cried out after him.

'You're Len Mathews, intcha?'

It was dark, and the other man was too drunk to focus, so nobody saw Leonard Mathews bunch his fists so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

'Mathews…' muttered the drunk as Lenny strode around a corner into the darkness, 'Mathews…' A seemingly hilarious thought struck him, and he burst out with sudden laughter. 'Mathews! I get it! Oh, that's priceless…' He looked again at the crumpled cheque in his hand. 'That's fucking priceless, Len!'

Around the corner, Lenny Mathews stopped, took a deep, calming breath, and ground his cigarette stump out on the greenish bark of a nearby sapling.


	3. Chapter 3

I NEED TO TALK

-x-

Three

-x-

Morning came, and with it came the staff of the Junior Gazette, in their usual dribs and drabs. Due to her late night at the office, Julie came in later than usual and Spike, muttering angrily to himself about David Thornley and devious, scheming females, arrived a full half hour earlier than normal – for once in their working lives they found themselves heading in through the office door together.

'Do me a favour, Julie,' he sighed to the blonde as he held the door open for her, 'explain your gender to me, would ya?'

'I was just about to ask you to do exactly the same thing,' muttered Julie.

'Another bad boyfriend?'

Julie shook her head. 'Strange men, last night. All wanting to see Colin.'

'Funny,' replied Spike with a raised eyebrow. 'I'm having trouble with a strange, mysterious man desperate to meet up with Lynda.'

Julie grinned. 'Must be some sort of Dork Convention we're not party to.'

'Well, there's definitely _somethin'_ we're not being told…' he stalled in the middle of the newsroom, looking about himself. 'And where the Hell is she?'

The newsroom, already fairly full of young journalists, typing and scribbling and squabbling away, was notably lacking one Lynda Day.

'She's not in today.'

Both Spike and Julie snapped their heads down to see the speaker. Colin didn't look up, but kept frowning at an A4 book of tables and numbers.

'Whaddaya mean, "she's not in"?'

'She's off. She's out. She's not in.'

'She never told me that!'

'Or me,' exclaimed Julie, 'God! Now I have to do all her work, as well as mine…'

Colin shrugged. 'Well she told me. Do you mind? This is the Annual Report, it's as difficult as it is important.'

Spike bent himself down to Colin's level as Julie huffed away.

'Did she happen to mention our friend David Thornley at all while she was excusing herself?'

'She didn't say,' muttered Colin to the Ledger, 'There's nearly a Grand missing here, where the Hell did I put it…?'

'Forget it,' growled Spike, pushing himself back up. 'Oh, by the way, apparently you had some mysterious visitors last night. Might want to look in to that.'

Colin looked up, panic rising on his face. 'What? Who?'

'They didn't say,' replied Julie from the pile of paperwork on Lynda's desk. 'One was very angry about a set of hair tongs.'

Colin exhaled audibly, going back to his reports. 'Oh. Him. I'll make it up to him, or something…'

'You don't need to,' said Julie, 'the second guy saw to that. Just got out his chequebook and paid him back twice over. Didn't even say who he w…'

She was cut off by a clatter. Colin had stood up so suddenly that his chair had toppled over. The whole office turned to face him. The blood had drained entirely away from his face. He looked as though he were about to throw up, or faint.

'He was here last night?' he managed.

Julie nodded. 'What are you so worried about, Colin? You must be thinking of somebody else. This man was well turned out, generous… he seemed like a really nice guy.'

'Yes,' muttered Colin, 'He does.'

Julie shrugged. 'Well, he said he'd pop by and see you this morning, anyway, whoever he his.'

'This morning…?' His eyes like saucers, Colin backed away from the desk, stumbling on his fallen chair. 'This morning. I've… I've…' he turned and made a wobbly movement towards his office door. 'I've got to… I'll be in my office, I…'

'Well, maybe we can have a chat in there, Colin,' came a man's voice.

Julie turned and smiled at the man standing at the newsroom door. He nodded at her with the same impish grin he had worn the night before.

'Morning, Goldilocks. Hope you don't mind me letting myself in, the door said you were open.'

'Colin?' Called Julie to the young man who was now standing with one hand against his office door, his back still to the rest of the newsroom, completely frozen. 'Colin, that guy is here.'

The man laughed a little. 'Please. Call me Lenny. Me and Colin'll just step outside for a bit of a catch-up, and I'll be out of your hair. I understand you must all be very busy.'

'Colin…?' called Julie again.

Colin still didn't budge, still didn't turn.

Spike sighed, and sauntered over to him. 'Hey, Colin, you're friend is here.'

'…no…' The word was very faint, barely breathed. Spike only heard it when he put his hand on Colin's shoulder.

'…no… I can't…'

'Colin?' Spike frowned. Every muscle in Colin's body seemed to have tensed and locked. He felt as though, if he pushed him, he would just topple on his axis and fall, still rigidly stuck in the same position.

Colin took a few hard breaths before he managed to say something audible. 'I'm busy. You have to go.'

Lenny stayed at the entrance end of the newsroom. 'It took me a lot of trouble to find you, Colin. All I want is to talk.'

'You're not supposed to be here,' added Colin, louder. 'Just go away. Just… just leave me alone. Leave us all alone.'

'Would you at least look at me, Colin?'

'No. Go away.'

'Will you just look at me? I'd like to look into the face of this… this fine young man that my son's grown into.'

'Son…?' The whisper went around the office. Julie stared. Yes. You could see it. There, in the eyes, and in the mouth a little.

'Oh my God,' she muttered, 'Colin – he's your Dad!'

Colin turned to face him, miserably, his back pressed against his office door. The staff gazed curiously from one face to the other.

Spike leaned in to Colin. 'Hey. I thought your Dad was outta the picture.'

Colin, now that he could see his father, never wavered his gaze away from him. 'So did I,' he muttered. Louder, he addressed Lenny with familiar tones of trepidation mixed with an alien coldness. 'What do you want?'

'Colin…' tutted Julie.

'Just to talk, Colin. That's all.' Lenny smiled, sadly. 'It's been a long time. Let's go somewhere private, eh?'

'No!' Somehow, Colin pressed himself even harder into the door behind him.

'Fine,' sighed Lenny, 'so you're really happy with us washing our dirty linen in front of all your friends here? You want your friends to hear about you running away from home in the middle of the night, setting the Police on us? About how close Social Services came to taking you and Katie away from your poor Mum…?'

Another murmur went around the office. 'Jesus…'

'It wasn't like that,' attempted Colin.

'About how I'm only standing here right now because you've been on the phone trying to get your little sister to do the same thing, and scared your Mum into throwing me out again?'

'She's kicked you out?' Breathed Colin, 'Well… good. Why don't you just disappear again?'

'My marriage in ruins, Colin.' Lenny's tone was calm, but sad. 'My family – ruined. My own brothers won't talk to me any more. Your Nana, my own old Mum, last time I ever saw her, she did nothing but spit on me. Wasn't even allowed to go to her funeral, because of you. And you think that's good? That makes you happy?'

'You think it's me? You think this is my fault? Dad, the things that you…'

'I wasn't a great Dad, I'll hold my hands up to that right now.' Lenny physically held both hands up at shoulder height. Everybody was so busy watching him that they didn't see Colin flinch automatically. 'In fact, I was pretty crap at fatherhood, and I'm sorry. But I've paid for that, Colin. You saw to that. You can't say I haven't been punished enough.'

'So, what?' Colin's voice and hands were starting to shake uncontrollably. Watching him, Spike had no idea whether it was with anger, or terror, or humiliation. It was a reaction in Colin that was completely new to him. 'What… you just turn up with your rubber chequebook and buy me a couple of days from a problem I could have handled in the first place and I'm supposed to welcome you back with open arms?'

Lenny smiled levelly, although his fists clenched. 'Just… stop agitating. Let me get on with my life and you get on with yours. Please? I love your mother, I've missed her so much. And you. And little Katie.'

Colin's expression blackened. 'Stay away from her. Stay away from my family.'

'They're _my_ family too, Colin.'

'Not any more.'

'My God, Colin.' Spike pulled at Colin's shoulder. It seemed to take Colin considerable effort to focus his eyes on the American. 'You know, most kids would be really happy to hear their Mom and Dad were making another go at it.'

Colin just shook his head, disorientated.

'My folks did it often enough for me to know. Hell, half the time I knew she'd be outta the door again within the week, but I never stood in the _way_.'

'It's not like th…'

'Look.' Spike lowered his voice, gently. 'I can tell you're mad at him. Sounds like you were mad at him as a kid, too. And that's OK. But why don'tcha hear him out? Let him take you to coffee or somethin'. Talk to him. Tell him why you're angry. It'll make it more bearable. Trust me. I should know.'

'You don't know Spike. You don't know a damn thing.' He was shaking again, his pupils so dilated that the whole of his eyes looked black. 'You think you understand but you… you had it easy.'

'Easy?' Spike took an angry step back from Colin. 'I spent my whole life playing Trans-Atlantic Ping Pong between an Ice Maiden and a man who drank his way to a heart attack at forty five and you think that's _easy_? You're the one with no idea, Buster, not me…'

'Colin,' said Lenny, evenly, 'you're causing a scene. I think our young American friend is right. Let's talk about this over a cup of tea somewhere.'

'No! I'm not… I'm not stepping out of this office with you. I've got nothing to say to you. Now, will you just leave?'

'I think Lenny's got a point, Colin,' added Julie. 'You're causing a big distraction and you're not exactly doing yourself any favours here this morning. I think this should be taken elsewhere.'

'I'm not taking it anywhere!' Colin backed himself up against the door again. 'I stay. He leaves. Right now.'

'Take it outside.'

'No!'

'Colin.' Julie crossed her arms. 'As Assistant Editor I'm going have to…'

'And as Financial Director I don't have to listen to a single damn word you say!'

Julie narrowed her eyes. He'd never dared pulling rank on her before, and he damn well wasn't going to start trying now. 'While Lynda isn't here, _I_ have authority over this newsroom, and you know that. As for your position, I've seen your contract. I believe in the Job Description box Lynda just wrote "Colin".'

'And yours still says "Graphics Senior".' Colin was spitting, pressed up against the door like a cornered animal. 'Only when you came back she added "Jumped-Up" to the start of it. So… so just call the Police, or something. Anything to make Him go. Just get Him out of here.'

'The Police, again?' sighed Lenny, sadly.

Colin focused on his father again, bewildered by his own fear and fury. 'Just fuck off!'

A strange sound went up in the office, part amused gasp, part disappointed sigh. In spite of the swear box, Colin was the only one of the senior staff who they'd yet to hear such language from since Kenny had left.

'I'm sorry,' muttered Lenny. 'I think I must have… a bad effect on him or something.'

'I'm sorry too,' tutted Julie. 'Sometimes I wonder if he understands reason at all.'

'Tell me about it,' shrugged Lenny, 'well, it was worth a try at least. I'll let myself out.'

Colin waited a good minute after the door swung shut after his father before he looked up at all. Only a couple of journalists had gone back to their work. The rest were all still staring at him, with expressions ranging from mild surprise to outraged disapproval.

Tiddler was the first one to speak. 'You owe the swear box £3.60. 30p for each "Damn" and the rest for… you know…'

'He's your _Dad_, Colin,' interrupted Spike. 'Your Dad's your Dad, no matter what. Do you have any idea how much I'd give to be able to straighten things out with _my_ Dad?'

'He didn't want to straighten a thing,' whispered Colin. 'He didn't want to talk. I remember that look… I don't want to… I don't want to…' He took a deep breath and held it, paling further.

'You're not making a lick of sense,' sighed Spike, 'and you look terrible. Julie, I reckon he should go home.'

'Don't ask me,' seethed Julie from her desk, 'I'm only a Jumped-Up Graphics Girl.'

'Don't want to…'

'Colin, go home.'

'Don't want to…'

'Where are your things? In your office?' Spike put a hand on the office door. 'Come on, I'll get you in a cab.'

Colin snapped back into the real world, batting Spike's hand away. 'I'm going.' He opened his office door a jar and slid himself through, still watching the newsroom suspiciously before closing it hard behind him.

Spike shook his head, perching on a nearby desk. 'Geez. I had no idea he was so angry at his Old Man. He never really mentioned him…'

'Same as Lynda never mentioned David Thornley,' added Frazz from his corner, 'only at least Colin's Dad is real.'

Spike gave his friend a sarcastic smile. 'Ya just had to bring Thornley into this, didn't you?'

There was the familiar sound of Colin's 'secret' back door opening and closing shut again. Still the staff in the newsroom chattered quietly amongst themselves.

'All right everyone,' announced Julie, 'cabaret's over. Back to work time.'

The young journalists carried on gossiping, oblivious.

'Everyone…?' tried Julie, again, 'everyone? Excuse me?'

Colin's office door opened again, suddenly. 'You heard the Jumped-Up Graphics Girl, hop to it.'

The entire news floor fell to a still, open mouthed silence at the young woman in the doorway. Lynda smiled, brightly. 'Surprise!'

'Lynda?' Spike blinked. 'Have you been in there all morning?'

'Yep.'

'Doing what?'

'Hiding,' she replied, striding towards the Darkroom, 'listening, fighting violent crime, the usual.'

'And that's what you were doing last night, I take it?'

Lynda picked up a camera and gauged its weight. 'In a way.' She pushed the camera into Frazz's hands. 'Frazz, you're with me. You too, Spike. Now. It might involve some running, I'm afraid.'

Spike grudgingly got to his feet. 'Where are we going?'

'You'll find out when we get there. We've got to go. Right now.' Lynda turned on her heels back into Colin's office. 'Back door,' she added.

Spike trailed after his girlfriend. 'And how's your good friend David Thornley, if you don't mind my asking?'

Lynda didn't turn back to face him. 'I've got a horrible feeling,' she said, 'you'll find that out when we get there too.'

-x-

_Ohgodohgodohgodohgod… Don't want to… don't want to… _

He held the briefcase tightly and walked, as steadily as he could with his head reeling away from him and his breaths going in and out too quickly, too sharply.

_Left foot, right foot, Ohgodohgod, left foot ohgod right foot ohgod… where to, where to? Not home. Not home._

There were running footsteps, far away. He closed his eyes tightly for a second.

_Not home._

And David Thornley opened them again. David Thornley, a cold, lost, bewildered little boy wandered the dark streets in his pyjamas because anywhere, anywhere was safer than his home. Because there was a gash on his forehead because he'd been asleep until he'd been pulled out of his bed by the ankles and he'd been kicked and he'd been thrown and he'd been kicked and he'd been thrown until he'd found himself at the bottom of the stairs and while his parents screamed in the kitchen he'd quietly got out and he had ran, hoping that he'd never have to go back to that place again, knowing that, eventually, he would, and there would be the tears and the apologies and the threats and the 'You mustn't tell' and the 'This stays between these four walls' and the 'They'll send me and your Mum to prison' and the 'They'll put you and little Katie into a Home' and the 'You walked into a door, Colin. Say it with me – "I walked into a door"'.

_I walked into a dooradooradooradoor... I fell into the bin. David Thornley. I'm going to London. Origami Swans. Origami Swans. Lynda with a Y.'_

That was right, recalled David, there had been a girl. She'd helped him. She could help. She would help.

_Paper swans. In the paper. I read about it in her paper. No. Wait. That wasn't me… Read all about it. Paper swans. Paper Swans. She's helping me. She's helping now. So where is she? Ohgodohgodohgod don't cry… Lynda with a Y… where… where the Hell am I…?_

He stopped, but the footsteps carried on, coming up close behind him. He had no time to turn. The body barrelled into him, pushing him hard against a wall. Very strong hands hauled him roughly into a narrow walkway beside a garage, pushed him into the shadowy dead-end and turned him around. He dropped the briefcase.

'_Now_ you'll look at me,' snarled the man, '_now _you'll listen to me without butting in with your silly little comments.' The man pulled him up by the tops of his arms so that his feet struggled to touch the ground and jolted him hard against the wall with every syllable. 'Now! You'll! See! How! Much! You've! Ruined! My! Life!'

The man released David's arms, but still stood in front of him, blocking his only escape. David looked up at the man – so big, so fierce, and David was so very, very small.

'Get up,' ordered the man. He grabbed him and pulled him up again. 'Get on your fucking feet like a man, will you? My God, I thought we could talk like grown ups, but you're still the bloody same, aren't you? Your friends all think you're an idiot, you know, but then you never could keep friends, could you? Still the same. Still the same stupid little boy who sent his own father to prison.'

_First the fists. Don't cry, don't cry._

David flinched from the punch before the man even drew his arm back. Still, the force of it took him by surprise. His head had nowhere to go but the wall, and the roughness of the bricks ripped into the cheek that hadn't been punched.

'I mean,' continued the man, 'do you have any idea, any idea at all, how blokes who've been put away for hitting a kid get treated in there?'

David was hit in the face a second time.

'They hear the words "Child Abuse" and that's it. Do you know how many times you got me beaten in there for being a Nonce?'

David tried covering his face, but the man only punched him in the stomach instead. There was a cry, a young man's cry, and David doubled over on himself, curling on the ground.

_Then the feet, once you're down. Don't cry, he mustn't see you cry._

'My own Mother!' The man kicked David at the top of his back. 'My wife! My little girl! I can't ever get my Mum back, but I deserve my wife and my daughter, you little bastard. I want them back!' David was kicked in the back again, just below his ribcage. Someone was screaming.

'You will let me have them back! You will leave us alone, and you and your stupid little court order can crawl away somewhere, because there's nothing you can do, Colin. I've found out where you work, and I can find out where you live, piece of piss.'

David was dragged up from the ground and pinned to the wall again, pinned by his hair this time. The man's face was swimming now, red and angry and crying.

'Look at you,' shouted the man, 'look at yourself, you can't defend yourself. No friends. Family won't be so keen to run to you now your Nan's gone. What have you got to keep yourself safe from me, eh? A piece of paper? Well, I'll tell you something, Colin, and you can remind yourself of this every time you see the mess I'm going to make of you in a mirror. Your little court order? Will not stop me. Does not mean a little thing.'

'It does, you know.'

It was a woman's voice. It came with a click and a burst of light.

_With a Y. Y? Why not?_

'With plenty of evidence that you're breaking it, it could mean an awful lot, Leonard.'

There were more people in there with him, people holding the man, picking up the briefcase. The woman opened the briefcase and showed him the microphone and tape player, still recording. 'For somebody who's had a tough time in prison, you're certainly in a hurry to go back there, aren't you?'

'You little…' began the man, before he composed himself again. 'That's Entrapment. It's illegal.'

'When did we ever force you, a convicted child batterer, to come to the Junior Gazette, a children's newspaper?' replied the woman, frostily, 'When did we ever make you follow the son you used to terrorise from the office, or drag him into an alley, or start beating him up? We just knew it was inevitable, so we prepared for it.'

'You just knew?' snorted the man, 'You just happened to have recording equipment on you that particular day?'

'We always have recording equipment, Mr Mathews, we're a Newspaper. But we were a little more prepared than you think, I'll admit. Colin had a message waiting for him when he got in last night that you'd had a big row with your estranged wife and she'd thrown you out, but not before she'd let slip about him working at the paper. And it was always the same pattern – once you'd done with his Mum, you'd go after him, so we knew you'd be in today.'

'And who's "We"?'

The young woman smiled sweetly at the man. 'Myself, and both of your children. It seems that little Katie picks up a lot more of what goes on these days than she used to. She's a clever girl, Leonard. You should be proud.'

'But I never laid a finger on Katie…'

'Doesn't matter,' replied the young woman, 'she loves her family. Something I don't think you really understand. She made the phone call, Colin thought of the tape recorder.'

The man stared at David. David cast his eyes to the ground.

'Volunteered to get another beating just to prove how dangerous you still are, just to keep you away from his mother and sister. Only you surprised him. I was getting the tape ready in his office when you turned up, and he couldn't leave without it, so he stood there and took a public humiliation off you, too.'

David closed his eyes.

'And you think he's weak?' continued the voice, 'you think he's a coward? He's brave. He's a Hell of a lot braver than I am. You can't intimidate that out of him, can't shoot it out of him, can't beat it out of him. More people than you have tried, believe me. He's stronger than you are, Leonard.' There was a click, and the tape stopped running. 'And you can quote me on that.'

Colin looked up. Frazz and Spike were holding his father back. His Dad had tears welling in his eyes. For some reason, so did Spike.

'Is that true, Colin?' his Dad asked. 'Going off alone with a hidden microphone, getting me taped as evidence against me, that was your idea? Colin, that's… that's devious.'

Colin wasn't sure if he was smiling or not, his face was so sore and swollen. 'I'm a Mathews,' he managed.

There was the sound of a siren on the street beyond. Lynda raised her eyebrows at Lenny. 'Sounds like your ride's here, Mr Mathews.'

-x-

Colin waited with his back against the dead-end as Policemen and women took his father and the camera and briefcase. He quietly declined a trip to make a statement at the station there and then. There were occasional flashes of the Police station and the hospital long ago, the gasps, the muttered curses, the sympathetic faces, having everything photographed, everything written down, but he pushed them back, and told the Police that he wanted a wash-up and a change of clothes before he did anything, so they took some more pictures of him where he was standing and let him be. He waited until the sirens faded away again and then there was only him, and Frazz, and Spike and Lynda with a Y.

_Y? Why not? I'm going to sell Origami Swans._

'Jesus,' breathed Spike. 'I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have… you were right, Colin. I had no idea.'

But Colin wasn't there. David had found the tarmac again, had curled up completely. The man had gone. And now the block in his head that was telling him he mustn't cry, the man mustn't see him cry, had finally crumbled away. It hurt his stomach and back and face to cry, he could barely breathe, but he cried anyway, cried hard with a strange sound he didn't recognise. It sounded like it was a grown up crying.

'Oh Geez,' said a voice above him. 'Oh God, what do I do?'

'Colin? It's OK.' Someone took his head. 'It's OK. We got him. He's gone. He's not going to be able to bother you again, not with the evidence you got. And Katie won't let him in now, will she? Colin?'

_No. No I'm not. I'm not. I'm not!_

She laid her head on the ground next to him, so that she could see into his eyes. Lynda with a Y.

_I'm not! Tell them – tell them!_

'It's OK. Can you hear me?' She paused. 'David? It's going to be all right.'

'David?' echoed Frazz.

'David,' breathed Spike. The jigsaw slotted together. Not a real name, not a made-up person, of course it was an alias, of course it was! There had been clues right from the start. He should have seen. Hell, if he'd taken a second to look at the damned note, the Goddam handwriting instead of the name at the bottom. Hell, there were times when his parents were throwing the dining set at one another that he wished he could allocate all that crap to a different person. So that was David Thornley. He'd solved the stupid mystery. And Lynda had been right, it hadn't needed to be solved at all. There were more important things about David Thornley than just who he really was. Much more important.

Spike left Lynda with her old friend David, her old, desperate, frightened friend David Thornley and walked past an embarrassed Frazz into the bright, midday sunshine of the street. He walked back to the office alone, and remembered. And because he was wearing his sunglasses, nobody could tell that he was crying.

-x-

'Hello, you.'

Lynda turned quickly at the familiar voice. There he was! It had been less than a year, but he looked so much bigger now. Still not as tall as her, but less skinny, less ghost like. There was only the faintest line on his forehead. 'Dav…'

'Colin Mathews,' he grinned, shaking her warmly by the hand. She turned his hand slightly. The little circles were gone.

'Lynda Day,' she replied, 'with a Y.'

Colin nodded. 'We're in the same art class.'

'So's Kenny,' beamed Lynda. 'Want to sit with us?'

'Sure,' Colin replied. 'I've got loads of paper.'

'That's good.'

'Want to buy some?'

-x-

The End.

-x-

NOTES:

This was supposed to be a much shorter fic! I originally meant it to be a 'Two Parter', with the revelation of David Thornley's real personality as the Part One cut-off, but it sort-of spiralled. The idea that Colin's Dad could possibly have been violently abusive came from a discussion with some friends. I just thought that he was pretty quick to jump to the conclusion tat Cindy Watkins was being beaten by her father, and then knew a lot about abused kids telling the authorities. Plus, he barely ever mentions his father and, bless him, the poor lad's pretty screwed up – anything could have happened to him!

I wanted a lot of Colynda friendship in this – I wanted a mirror to Something Terrible in general, but I really love their mutual understandings anyway. She's blatantly lying about her own Dad in this fic, BTW!

I found Spike's role changing a lot in this story – I thought he'd react quite possessively to the note, but with his own issues with his parents, I felt his response to the changing faces of Lenny would also be particularly strong. The memories that are making him cry, whether it's of his own father, or things Colin had done or said, or Lynda's protection of him in the past that he suddenly understood, or just the last 24 hours, that's entirely down to you, dearest reader.

I enjoyed throwing a cameo in from poor, harassed Kenny, as well!

On Lenny – Well, my thanks go out to those who read my draft of the first half of this fic and made really helpful suggestions about his character. He was originally going to be the Drunk (I liked the Drunk, so I kept him in as a red herring!) but the general consensus was that he should be much more charming on the surface, a real sweet talker, a real Mathews, who could make Colin sound like the bad guy. And more importantly he makes Colin _feel _like the bad guy, so he starts lashing out. His entrance was deliberately Film Noir-ish, because he reminds me of Harry Lime.

Who knows what the meaning of the Origami Swans are. A symbol of childhood innocence and optimism, I suppose. Something for him to try to grasp hold of as he's slipping away into a fear-induced stupor.

And I blatantly know nothing about Police procedure for missing children, beaten children, upholding of restraining orders or treating domestic incidents in public places. I imagine they're a lot better than I made out. Apologies for any Scooby-Dooness in the ending, too!

Scribbles


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